


I See You

by projectml



Series: Project: Bastille Day 2016 [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, project bastille day 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectml/pseuds/projectml
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The third Bastille AU for Project: Bastille Day 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Polished silverware glinted a blinding white from the sunlight filtering through the parlour windows. Rose eyed her untarnished butter knife  set daintily by her plate without really seeing it. The aroma of fresh baked bread wafted to her nose from the assortment of decadent pastries before her, none of them touched. Fresh flowers set at the centre of the table emitted a fragrance she would usually find pleasant, but today it invaded her lungs and settled at the pit of her stomach like a giant, sickly sweet slug. It twisted at her insides, turning them over and squeezing her chest.

Rose forced a breath past her throat anyway, lace crumpling in her fists as her fingers worried the skirt of her dress under the table.  Flaxen hair tumbled past her shoulders to brush its ends at her waist, the silky locks rough where they touched her skin as if they were made of straw. The delicate golden necklace around her neck felt like it was made of lead, weighing her down and tightening around her throat.

“They’ll learn their place, those ridiculous peasants,” continued her father, buttering his croissant as if they were speaking of nothing more important than the shape of clouds in the sky. “They have no right to be making such demands. Our nation is in a difficult time after aiding America with their revolution, we hardly need one of our own right now.”

“A momentary phase, nothing to worry yourself over, dear,” said her mother with a solemn nod. The woman looked immaculate, as if she’d walked straight out of a painting. “The foreign affairs have inspired the peasants to fight against the natural order. They will come to their senses and cease their nonsense soon.”

Each word that fell from their lips dropped into her stomach like a stone, sinking down to feed the squirming slug. She pushed her plate away.

Her father sighed, rubbing at his temples. “All the same, the common people are restless. We’d best keep our heads down and not attract attention to ourselves for a while. With how poorly the king is keeping a handle on things, they are bound to do something reckless sooner or later and I would prefer if we do not get caught up in it.”

And at last, she could remain silent no more.

“But father,” said Rose, jerking her head up, “don’t you think that the Third Estate has a point? What would be so wrong in allowing them more votes in proportion to the size of their faction?”

“Oh, dear, no, Rose! If the Third Estate were given even the barest of inches, they will take a whole yard. They’ll get ahead of themselves and we will lose control of the situation before you know it. No, no, we must never give in to their demands, it will go straight to their heads.”

“But what about the taxes, father?” she pressed, weeks of barely contained silence cracking the dam of social restraint. “Surely you can agree that it is hardly fair? Why are the poorest of France’s people made to pay tithe when they cannot even afford to buy bread? People are starving—”

“Preposterous!” her father thundered, brows furrowing and eyes narrowing. “Groundless exaggerations! Who has been telling you such lies?”

Rose started, abruptly aware she had crossed some invisible line.

“N-no one,” she said, casting her mind around for a way out as she tucked a wayward strand of golden hair behind her ear to stall. “I just….”

“Are you not hungry, dear?” her mother asked, glancing pointedly at Rose’s untouched plate. “If you’re not feeling well, you should take some air for a while. I’m sure the sunshine and fresh air will make you feel better.”

Throat closing up, Rose could only nod. A redheaded servant girl came forward to collect her plate as Rose excused herself and got on her feet, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Turning from the lavish table, she left the parlour, trying not to look like she was fleeing it.

“Oh, and don’t forget your hat, dear!” her mother called after her, “We can’t have any freckles now, can we?”

* * *

The fresh air didn’t make her feel better.

Rose crossed her ankles, tucking them under the iron wrought bench as she settled into it. She sighed, eyes dropping to the flower bush in full bloom by her armrest, roses of pure white glowing like snow. The day was beautiful, the air crisp and cool against her skin. The hem of her dress had been made damp from walking across lush green grass laden with morning dew, her lace shoes in her hands so she could feel the earth beneath her feet. Mother would scold, but for now, the brilliant sun shining down that warmed her face and made the roses seem even whiter were the only things in her world.

A smile tugged at her downturned lips as she gazed at a lone, white blossom, later to bloom than the others. Its petals were just barely beginning to curl outwards, revealing its creamy, delicate centre.

Perhaps she did feel a bit better after all.

“That was a close call back there.”

Whipping around in her seat, Rose turned to catch the eye of the redheaded servant girl from earlier as she emerged from the verandah and into the sunlight, hands reaching for the sky as she stretched her back. Her auburn hair appeared almost pink in the bright light of the sun, the shade reminiscent of azaleas. Cracking open one cerulean eye, several shades darker than Rose’s own sky blue, Alix grinned.

“If it would please the young lady,” she said, bowing with an exaggerated flourish, “may I keep you company as you stare pensively at the flowers?”

Rose hid a giggle behind a delicate hand, scooting closer to the rose bush to make more room. Casting a look around to make sure they were alone, Alix dropped down into the seat next to her.

“Man, I’m beat,” she muttered, stretching her legs out in front of her. “There was a mess in the study this morning because one of the old cleaning ladies tipped over an ink bottle. Your father wasn’t pleased.”

Biting back a wince, Rose lowered her head. “Sorry about that,” she muttered, weaving her fingers together. From the tail of her eye, she saw Alix wave a dismissive hand.

“Nah, not your fault your father is an asshole,” she said, folding her hands behind her head and leaning back. “You still shouldn’t have said anything, you could have gotten into a lot of trouble with your father. And it wouldn’t have changed anything anyway.”

“I know,” said Rose with sigh, reaching up to brush her immaculate bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t know what came over me. If they found out it was you who was telling me of the real goings-on outside ….”

She trailed off, but neither of them needed the sentence finished to know the implications of their unlikely friendship being discovered. That she, daughter to an Estates-General of the Second Estate, a poster example of a young lady of the nobility, associated with a lowly servant girl.

“I was just …. I was just really hoping I could change his mind somehow, make him  _ see _ ….”

“It’s no use talking to people like your father, Rose,” said Alix, scowling at her fingernails. “They’re too set in their beliefs to listen to reason.”

“I know,” said Rose, shoulders slumped as if she were wearing plate armour instead of a light linen dress. “I just hoped….”

Turning to her, Alix opened her mouth, but paused at the resignation in Rose’s eyes. Her scowl did not cease, but she lost the hard edge in her eyes as she prodded the blonde on the shoulder.

“Sorry, but I don’t think his opinion is ever going to change. Even if it’s his own daughter appealing to him.”

Rose sighed, the corners of her lips tugging upward at the familiar contact. “I suppose you’re right. I just—… I don’t know how much longer I can live like this, staying within these walls and indulging in luxuries while knowing that so many people outside struggle to have enough to even eat. It just feels so wrong.”

“Well,” said Alix, tone taking on a nonchalant air she tilted her head to look up at the wispy-clouded sky, “you could always leave.”

Rose snapped her eyes back up to meet Alix’s, staring at the other girl as if she’d just grown an extra head.

“Leave? You mean,  _ leave _ home?” she parroted, eyes wide. “But where would I go? I don’t know anyone who would help me.”

“But I do. There are a few places I know will be willing to house you and all so long as you don’t mind hard work. I could help you get out of here, but only if you want to.”

Rose stared ahead, unfocused eyes settling on a pair of butterflies fluttering past. Leave the estate? The repercussions would be catastrophic; the noble circle would be abuzz over her sudden disappearance, mere months after the Agreste boy had done the same. Gabriel Agreste had been disgraced, his textile empire fell to shambles. The scandal threw the noblemen into a panic over their own children possibly running away from home. And like Gabriel Agreste, her father would lose his standing among the Estates-Generals.

If she left home, she would have to leave her family.

She would be on her own.

Could she really do that?

“Sorry, forget I said anything.” Alix jumped to her feet, brushing imaginary dust from her maid uniform. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask that of you.”

“I’ll need a disguise.”

Rose looked up, meeting the other girl’s stare as Alix fixed her with a look as if she’d just grown  _ two _ extra heads.

After a long moment, Alix blinked. “A disguise?”

“Well,” said Rose, “if I’m running away and don’t want to be recognised, I think that would be a good idea.”

* * *

A good idea, but it was more easily said than done.

Tremors ran through her slight frame, travelling down her arms to the tips of her fingers and the cold steel in her grasp. She took another breath, keeping it steady, but the thundering heart in her chest paid no heed. Exhaling in a gush, her breath sent her bangs fluttering in the otherwise still air. Reaching up with her free hand, Rose combed her fingers through her golden hair, all the way down to her waist. There was a lot of it.

Knuckles turned white from her unrelenting grip on the scissors. Its edges pressed uncomfortably into her skin, leaving red indents in her palm. She reached up and gathered her hair at the base of her neck.

Her mother used to brush her hair before tucking her in every night, telling her how it looked like woven sunlight as the bristles ran through the locks.

Rose’s grip on the scissors slackened.

Vivid memory resurrected the warmth of a hand brushing the crown of her head, the brush dragging long strokes that eased away tangles and flyaways. A gentle voice cooed in her ear, murmuring tender words and weaving a lullaby that had her eyelids drooping within minutes. Then her mother would lead her to bed, brushing her gleaming bangs from her face to press a kiss to her forehead.

But her mother, her sweet, kind, and gentle mother, was the same person who would condemn someone else to starve on the streets over a ‘misfortune of birth’. The same person who would turn a blind eye to someone in need of food, clothes, and shelter; only to indulge in her jewelleries and silks and fine wines. The same person who could walk through the streets of Paris with the impoverished begging for scraps and change without seeing anything wrong.

Her next breath came shuddering, air rattling in her lungs as she raised her eyes to look at her reflection in the mirror. The girl in the glass looked back, her linen nightgown almost glowing in the pale light of the moon streaming in from her window. The gold of her hair appeared silvery, the curls bleached by moonbeams and flowing down to her waist like a river of mercury.

Pure crystalline blue broke the monotony of silver, reflection of wide almond-shaped eyes staring back. Eyes just like her father’s, and yet nothing like them. 

The father who would sooner see the people of France oppressed and under their thumbs than living as equals.

Gritting her teeth against the tightening coil around her chest, Rose squared her shoulders and raised the scissors.

* * *

She tried not to think too hard about how this would be the last time she’d see these halls as she walked through the darkened corridors. Where the hem of her dress would have swept the hardwood floors, rough fabric now encased her legs. A common worker’s jacket and tunic hung off her shoulders where satin and lace once hugged her frame, a worn beret over her head pushed down low over her face to dissuade any curious onlookers who might still be awake at the ungodly hour. Alix had pilfered the clothes from the musty room housing spare clothes for the servants on their days off. The hat was just a little too big and the sole of her right boot was coming off, but she refrained from complaint as she followed Alix steadily out of the mansion.

They stepped from the shadows of the terrace and out into the courtyard—cutting through it was the fastest way to get to the secret entrance leading out of the compound, or so Alix said—and a crisp breeze whipped across her cheeks. Its chilled fingers threaded through the rough ends of her freshly cropped hair. The lightness was liberating, as if a marble headdress had been removed from her head instead of two feet of hair. It was lighter on her shoulders too, her whole being seemingly seized with a kind of weightlessness that had Rose feeling like she was walking on air.

This was it, she was leaving—running away from home.

She could hardly believe it.

She could hardly believe herself.

“We’ll be taking the passageway that goes under the west wing,” said Alix in a voice barely above a whisper as they trekked over the grass. “That way, we’re less likely to run into the other servants and risk you being seen.”

“I understand,” said Rose, hurrying her step to match Alix’s when her eyes fell upon the rosebush, the same one she had sat next to that afternoon.

She stepped up to it, drawn to the pure, snow-white blossoms as if they were beckoning to her, the flower heads bobbing in the midnight breeze. Her fingers brushed over a familiar rosebud, petals soft as down caressing her skin. Moonlight reflected off its surface and gave the rose its own glow, turning her fingertips a ghostly white.

Seized by a sudden impulse, she plucked it from the bush.

“Rose, this is no time to stop and smell the roses. We have to keep moving.”

Turning to face Alix, she tucked the rosebud safely behind her ear.

“I’m coming.”

From the courtyard, it was simple to sneak out of the estate through the servants’ hidden passageways. Alix knew them like the back of her hand, guiding her in the pitch black darkness by her hand without needing any light. When they emerged out into a back area of the mansion, Rose turned to face her as she pointed down a worn path leading into the woods, just visible in the moonlight.

“This is how the kitchen hands receive and unload supplies from the city. Follow that, a friend of mine is waiting a little further down. He’ll take you somewhere safe.”

Instead of hurrying down it, which she should be if she wanted to avoid any chance of being spotted, she indulged herself one more moment. Rose smiled, inclining her head to a friend she knew she wouldn’t see for quite a while.

“You take care of yourself,” she said.

Something in Alix’s eyes softened, and the girl lightly pushed at her arm. “You too,” she said. “Now hurry up, I didn’t stick my neck out for you just for you to get caught.”

With a final nod and wave, Rose turned and fled into the beckoning dark of the trees, leaving behind everything she had ever known.

She never looked back.


	2. Chapter 2

“René, could you get some more flour? We still need to make more bread.”

“René, if you’re going to the back get some onions too. We should be ready to start making some soup soon.”

“Sure! I’ll be right back.”

Rose coughed, disguising the noise by clearing her throat. Faking a lower voice was still hard on her vocals, but she was getting better. Excess flour floated in puffs of white clouds as she patted her hands, wiping them down on her faded blue apron as she entered the pantry. She stepped down the narrow gap between the shelves, pulling up her mental map of where the requested items were kept. 

The voices of the two cooks drifted through the open door after her retreating back.

“He’s such a good boy, don’t you think so?”

“Oh, yes! Such an adorable one, too. In fact, he reminds me a lot of my own daughter.”

Stifling a gasp that still came out as a choke, her hands flew to her collar, yanking it higher up her neck as she roved her eyes up and down her body for any slipups. But the faded blue tunic still covered every inch of skin it could, the straight-cut grey pants still baggy and rolled up three times over her ankles to expose her worn men’s leather boots. The delicate features of her face might not match with the style, but she passed for a boy easily enough. Even if an androgynous one.

Not for the first time, Rose both cursed and gave thanks for the fact that she had next to no chest before moving on.

Supplies were running low, she noted with a grim purse of her lips. Supplies were always running low, but Rose worried for this week. The shelves were almost empty, the paltry amount of food appearing even smaller in the near vacant spaces they occupied. Rose fretted at her bottom lip with her front teeth as she passed by meager stocks of grain, dried meat, and—there!

Two bags of flour remained, each as large as her own torso. Unless they got some more somehow, there’d be no bread to be had next month. Stooping, Rose hefted one bag of flour onto her shoulders, skinny knees almost buckling from the weight. She grunted, but kept on her feet.

Now for the onions.

Rose adjusted her grip on the bag as she padded deeper into the pantry, noting that her palms no longer burned from the friction. Flawlessly smooth skin had begun to give way to calluses; a result of her relentless work in the church’s kitchen. Her mother would have been mortified, but Rose found herself not minding very much.

The hours were long—there was always need for more food, always another starving mouth to feed—and she no longer had the benefit of the luxuries her old life so freely provided, but she had a roof over her head and three, if small, meals a day in exchange for volunteering full time. But it wasn’t so bad, especially since she was doing something to help.

Spying a small sack of onions, she grabbed hold of it and tucked it under arm, spinning around to retreat back to the entrance.

“AH!”

Nose colliding against a cushy surface, Rose reeled back, nearly dropping the bag of flour and sack of onions. Her grip on the items tightened as she regained her footing, just managing to stop herself from falling on her back.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

The voice was unfamiliar, low and almost gravelly but unmistakably feminine. Eyes hitting near invisible dark fabric, Rose let her gaze wander up until they met a pale face partially hidden behind a curtain of inky hair. Even in the dim lighting, the skin there seemed to glow like the moon. Light from outside the pantry streamed in from behind the stranger, enveloping her tall and slender silhouette in a halo. 

“I came back here because they told me you might need help. You’re René, right?”

Rose nodded, opening her mouth to reply—and freezing.

The girl was a head taller than she was.

She was at eye level with the girl’s chest.

_ She’d just bumped her face into another girl’s breasts. _

And the girl didn’t know that she was also a girl.

“I’m so sorry!” Rose squealed, dropping the ingredients for real this time as she clasped her hands and cast her gaze to the dirty floor. “I’m so  _ so _ sorry!”

Barely a fortnight into her guise as a boy, and already she was going to be labelled as a creep. Rose bit back a grimace, wracking her mind for a way to salvage the situation. The best she could do right now was apologise and hope the girl—

“It was an accident, don’t worry. Are you coming?”

Eyes flashing back up, Rose started as the girl approached. The girl paid her no heed, stooping over to grab the bag of flour and heave it into her arms. Rose was still staring after the other girl had turned and walked out of the pantry without so much as a word or backward glance.

It took a few moments before Rose gathered enough of her wits to snatch up the sack of onions and dart out after her.

It was when they were standing back in the bright light of the kitchen, the girl working wordlessly beside her as they prepared the food, did Rose realise her hair was a deep indigo, long sweeping bangs almost covering her left eye. The rest of it hung in a tightly woven braid that hung down her back, the sleek ends brushing her tailbone.

It was just as long as Rose’s own hair, before she had cut it off.

* * *

The girl’s name was Juleka.

Rose learned it later, on a day when the sun was behind the clouds and it was just the two of them wiping down the pews in the chapel. 

“I’m… I guess you can say I’m a spy,” said Juleka, wringing the rag in her hands over a bucket of murky water. “It’s easy for me to go places, to be discreet. I can enter homes, disguised as a maid or a page and listen in on conversations. Information that can help the Third Estate. People barely even notice me.”

Pausing from scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the backrest, Rose snuck a glance at Juleka. Baby blue eyes travelled from Juleka’s own crimson irises, to the dark waist-length braid shining indigo highlights in the low light. With her alabaster skin that was pale almost to the point of being almost white, Juleka seemed rather eye-catching. Rose straightened, rag in hand.

“But how could anyone not notice you?”

Juleka simply shrugged, not even looking at her. “Just a simple disguise, and they don’t look at me twice. If they even look at me at all.”

Tilting her head, Rose openly turned to look at Juleka now, cleaning forgotten. The taller girl swiped at the worn wood with diligent hands, still not meeting her eyes. Something about the lilt in her voice didn’t sit right.

“I’m sorry, but, erm, I don’t mean to undermine your spying or disguising skills or anything,” said Rose, choosing her words like her mother would pick only the best flowers for the parlour. Fighting down a grimace, she pushed away the memory of sinfully soft petals and slender, gentle fingers running along the stems. “You just … kind of sound almost like you  _ wished _ they would notice you.”

Those were the words that finally brought Juleka to a stop. The dark-haired girl glanced up at Rose.

“Sorry,” Rose quickly amended, dropping her eyes and throwing herself back into her cleaning with renewed vigor. “It was a silly thought, please forget I said anything.”

Silence met her words, the seconds stretching into minutes as the girls worked, with nothing but the occasional splash to echo in the chapel. Rose bit her lip, mentally kicking herself as she resolved to simply keep her mouth shut around Juleka. Why was she always saying the wrong things? Wringing her rag of excess water over her bucket, Rose hoped that she hadn’t offended the girl too badly. She bit back a wince as the frayed fibers scraped at her skin of her palms like sandpaper, pursing her lips against the sting and only twisting harder. 

Shouldn’t a boy have more muscle strength than this? Letting out a soft sigh, Rose shook off the excess water from her hands. 

_ Honestly, it’s a wonder how I haven’t been found out yet _ .

She nearly dropped the rag back into the grey water when that honeyed gravelly voice spoke again.

“I… I know this might sound stupid; crazy, even.”

Twisting around to glance at Juleka, Rose took in the sight of the girl kneeling next to her bucket, eyes fixed on the rippling grey water as straight bangs fell around her face like a dark shroud.

“But people seem to have a hard time remembering me, or even noticing my presence. Most of the time, when they look at me, it’s like they don’t really  _ see _ me. I guess it must be because I don’t draw much attention to myself and I’m not really impressionable. It lets me blend into different environments and eavesdrop on conversations I shouldn’t be privy to.” Juleka’s shoulders rose and fell with a steady intake of breath, then a nervous smile broke across her face. “It’s almost as if I have a curse.”

“Doesn’t … doesn’t it get lonely?” asked Rose, voice dropping to a mere whisper, as if the swirling dust-motes in the otherwise still chapel had ears. “If no one acknowledges your presence?”

Juleka shrugged. “The people who matter do. People here recognise me, my face. Sometimes they might forget my name, but I just remind them.”

“It ... still sounds sad, though,” said Rose.

“Well, it’s times like these when it’s not so bad. When … when I have someone to talk to.”

Stiffening, Juleka widened her eyes and shut her mouth with an audible click of teeth on teeth. Turning away, she plunged her rag back into her bucket, scrubbing vigorously as if the conversation had never happened.

Refocusing her attention back to her own bucket, Rose smiled. Watching the water drip off the fraying cloth, she resolved to talk to Juleka as often as she could.

* * *

“You didn’t think it was weird? What I said the other day about … my ‘curse’?”

Swallowing her bite of bread, Rose glanced up to the sight of Juleka prodding at her own meal of stale bread and crumbly cheese. Sitting together in the small atrium where they had their meals, there was no one else around save for the cook and a pair of quietly chattering nuns in the corner.

“No,” said Rose, tilting her head quizzically. “Why would I think that?”

Juleka jerked her head up to meet her eyes, muted red meeting baby blue. “You … you believe me?”

“Of course,” said Rose. “You have no reason to lie. I don’t think it’s weird at all. But Juleka,” curling her lips in a smile, Rose continued, “if it makes you feel better to talk to someone … I’m always working here alone and I could use the company. It gets boring after a while on my own, after all.”

Think, inky eyelashes fluttered as Juleka blinked, eyes wide. Their outer corners lifted as a smile grew over Juleka’s face. The grin lifted her expression to something beatific, brightening the chapel. Light from the windows played across her features, bathing her in an almost angelic aura. The effect was almost dazzling. “Thank you, René. I’ll … keep that in mind.”

Juleka left to attend to some other task shortly after, but as Rose gathered up their dishes for washing, she found herself wishing she would smile like that more often.

* * *

“Oh, there you are, René!”

Straightening up from her crouch, Rose felt the pleasant pops along her spine as she stretched her sore muscles. Looking down, she took a moment to admire her work. The freshly overturned soil covered a good ten square feet of what used to be the church’s back garden, various vegetable seeds planted in neat rows. Dirt was everywhere—coating her torn garden gloves, on the knees of her baggy pants, the hem of her tunic—and sweat poured down her back as if she’d just up-ended a bucket of sun-warmed water over her head. Still, it was a good morning’s work. With any luck, the church would be able to sustain itself at least where tomatoes and potatoes were concerned.

Swiping away a sweat-slicked lock of hair from her forehead, she twisted to face a nun, the middle-aged woman with sharp cheekbones and soft brown eyes smiling kindly at her.

“Mother Giselle!” Rose greeted, unable to stop the grin stretching across her face that accompanied the swell of gratitude at the sight of the older woman. The memory of her first arrival in a rickety, horse-drawn wagon at the church still stood out in her mind, a chilly night nearly four weeks ago when the amiable nun granted her a place to stay in exchange for work. They had plenty of tasks suited for such a spritely young ‘boy’. Alix’s friend—a much taller, tanned boy by the name of Kim, she remembered—had declined an offer to stay the night despite the late hour, insisting he had to hurry back before anyone noticed the absence of a stable boy, hay wagon, and a whole draught horse.

Rose’s thoughts drifted briefly toward her old friend—was Alix all right? She certainly hoped so—before Mother Giselle’s voice pulled back down to earth.

“I’m very sorry for loading you more work when you already have so much, dear,” she said, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “But could you possibly help with distributing the rations when lunchtime comes around? I’m afraid one of the kitchen hands has taken ill, and we are short on volunteers today.”

“No problem,” said Rose, gathering up the dented garden spade and stripping the ruined gloves off her hands. Maybe if she washed them thoroughly enough, they could serve as rags for cleaning. “I was just about done here, anyway.”

“Thank you, my dear boy,” said Mother Giselle, relief painting her severe features as she inclined her head. “You might be managing the distribution alone, so, if you are able, I do suggest asking someone to help you if they have the time to spare. Most of us will be working in the kitchen itself as it is.”

Opening her mouth to reply that—no, it was all right, she could manage just fine without needing to bother someone else—Rose paused when a glint of gleaming indigo like starling feathers flashed in the corner of her eye.

Brightening at the familiar sight, Rose stood on her tiptoes and waved her arm in greeting. Trying to ignore the way her heart had jumped from her chest to her throat, she raised her voice for her words to carry across the yard.

“Juleka! Juleka, over here!”

The girl stopped abruptly on the cobbled path leading to the back entrance of the church and turned, standing stock still and staring at Rose as if she didn’t recognise the sound of her own name. 

Undaunted, Rose hopped, grin stretching wider as she waved again. Juleka blinked, seeming to come to her senses before finally approaching. Rose dropped her arm, heart still hammering in her throat. Why was it doing that?

“Who is that, dear?” asked Mother Giselle, appraising the other girl from over her shoulder. “A friend of yours?”

“But that’s Juleka!” exclaimed Rose, turning wide eyes to the nun, grin slipping just a little. “She was sent to the Bourgeois estate to keep an eye on them a week ago, remember?”

“‘Juleka?’ But I don’t ….” The older woman squinted, as if trying to make something out in the sun, before her face lifted in dawning realisation. For a moment, Rose wondered if her sparse eyebrows would disappear under her coif. “Oh, yes! I remember now. Goodness, how could I have forgotten? It was me who asked her to go. My memory must not be what is used to be.”

“Well, here she is now,” said Rose haltingly. She doubted Mother Giselle’s memory loss of an entire person was because of old age.  “I guess she must have just gotten back.”

“Good afternoon, Mother Giselle,” said Juleka, bowing her head toward the nun before flickering her eyes towards Rose. Breath caught, Rose could only stare back at smoky red irises that seemed almost piercing, rooting her to the ground. She felt exposed, as if her entire being was an open book for Juleka to read. The wave of panic rushing through Rose was dizzying, and she fought down the urge to glance down to check if her disguise was still holding up.

She gulped, willing her face to stay devoid of the fear coursing through her veins. Had she been discovered? Had she blown her cover? If not, then why was Juleka looking at her like th—

And just as suddenly as she had done it, Juleka dropped her gaze to the ground. Rose could breathe again.

“Hello, René,” Juleka added, voice almost a whisper as she mumbled at her feet.

“H-hello,” Rose managed, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it did to her. Clearing her throat, she soldiered on. “I, erm, if it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could help me with rations distribution? That is! I mean, if you aren’t too busy, that is.”

“Oh,” said Juleka. Glancing over at Mother Giselle, she bit her lip, hesitating.

Noticing the look, Mother Giselle smiled. “Oh, go ahead, dear. Anything you have to tell me about the Bourgeois family can wait until the evening. I have to go attend to some other matters myself, so you two take care.”

“We will, Mother Giselle!” Rose assured with a smile of her own. The nun nodded her head before turning and walking away, the picture of beatific serenity, leaving her and Juleka standing together in front of a freshly planted vegetable patch.

“I’ll just … I’ll just put these away, then we can go inside,” said Rose, lifting up her armload of tools in indication as she walked towards the impossibly small storage shed. Juleka nodded, wordlessly following after her. With Mother Gisele gone, her heart had picked up its thundering pace again. Blood pounded in her ears like the booming of a war drum, and Rose wondered if Juleka could hear it too.

“You remembered me,” she said suddenly, prompting Rose to drop the battered watering can with a resounding clang.

“W-what?” said Rose, snatching it up and stuffing it back onto its shelf without ceremony as she twisted to look at Juleka. “Of course I did.”  _ How could I not? _

Hands clasped in front of her like a shield, with her eyes downcast and shoulders hunched, Juleka mumbled, “No one has remembered me before. I mean, they have, but … you knew my name, you recognised my face. Even though it’s been a week since we last met.”

“You’re my friend, Juleka. I’d recognise you anywhere,” she told her, deeming the garden gloves to be beyond salvation and throwing them away. She’d have to find a fresh pair later.

“You’re … the first person to have called me a friend,” Juleka admitted. “I guess I was never enough of a presence in other people’s lives to warrant remembering before. Too insignificant.” 

“Don’t say that!” said Rose, whirling around to face a startled Juleka. Wine-red eyes as round as teacups. “Don’t ever call yourself insignificant. The curse isn’t your fault. It’s just too bad for them that they don’t remember the name of someone as pretty as you.”

The words were already out of her mouth and hanging incriminatingly in the air by the time Rose realised their meaning. Stunned into silence, Rose acknowledged with growing mortification how that must have sounded like coming from a ‘boy’.

“You …,” said Juleka, caution drawing out the word into one long syllable. “You think … that I’m pretty?”

_ ‘I think you’re beautiful,’ _ Rose wanted to say, ‘ _ I think that your eyes look like the mulled red wine my father used to drink in the evenings, your face like the powder my mother wears, and your hair like the satin on my favourite purple gown back at home.’ _

But of course, Rose said none of those things. 

“Y-yes,” she said simply, now her turn to talk to the ground while Juleka stared at her. “I d-didn’t mean to make it sound like I was courting you—n-not that I don’t think you’re not worthy of being courted—” Oh god, what was she  _ saying? _ “I-I just mean that you really do look pretty. Honestly.”

Clamping her mouth shut before she could say anything even more mortifying, Rose fought against the rising blush heating her cheeks and neck as she stalked towards the church.

“S-sorry. We, erm, we should get moving—”

A hand on her shoulder stopped her path. Rose froze mid-step, plucking up the remnants of her courage to pull her head up and look Juleka in the eye. She was glad she did, the thankful smile on the girl’s normally neutral face was like seeing the sun finally peeking out from behind stormy clouds.

“You’ve got a bit of dirt on your face,” Juleka told her, reaching out a hand and brushing it over Rose’s brow. Skin tingled in the wake of pale fingers, and Rose lost the battle against her furious blush. 

Juleka only smiled wider. “There, it’s gone.”

With a swish of indigo velvet, Juleka stepped past her and toward the church, leaving Rose standing by the makeshift garden shed, flushed face resembling one of her soon-to-be tomatoes.

_ ‘W … what was that?’ _

* * *

Why would  _ anyone _ put an old meat cleaver up on a rickety shelf above their head while digging around for sugar?

Fingers coming away from her side stained red, Rose grimaced. Of course,  _ she _ would. 

Wincing, Rose pulled her clothes off layer by layer, the fabric of her roughspun tunic like sandpaper against her wounded side. She paused when she saw the red stain, forcing herself to take several more deep, calming breaths. She’d have to do this herself, having repeatedly refused help from the kitchen hand and cook. She couldn’t afford taking chances with someone finding out who she was. Shuddering, she brushed her fingers over the rip in her tunic experimentally, holding back another wince.

Oh well, better get it over with.

Bracing herself, she peeled the hem of her tunic up and away from her body.

It … actually didn’t look as bad as she had imagined.

The gash was shallow, running from just under her armpit and down her ribs to end before the inward curve of her waist. She noted gratefully that the bleeding was already stopping. If she treated and dressed it up, it wouldn’t even be a problem. Shaking her head, Rose silently admonished herself as she reached for the clean rags. She would need to sneak proper medical supplies from the makeshift infirmary later, but these would have to do for now.

“René, they told me you got hurt. Are you all ri—”

Whipping around at a new voice in the room, Rose promptly froze in place at the sight of a tall figure standing in the doorway. Cold like arctic water flooded her veins, rooting her in place. Too late, she dropped her shirt back over her abdomen, the baggy fabric falling back over the incriminating slenderness of her frame and slight but unmistakable swell of breasts. Eyes wide and breath frozen in her throat, Rose was paralysed. So she simply stared.

Standing stock-still and staring back at her with equally round wine-red irises and parted lips was the last person Rose hoped would ever see her like this. Her mind raced as she frantically tried to come up with some plausible explanation, but the only words ringing through her thoughts were near unintelligible and of no help at all. 

_ She saw me, she saw me, shesawmeshesawmeSHEsawME. _

“Juleka,” she breathed, her voice an almost silent whisper. Her practiced boy-voice was gone, and she sounded just like a girl again. Like that same girl with long golden hair and silken gowns living in a grand house on one of the largest estates in France. And she  _ hated  _ it. “Juleka, please, this isn’t what it looks—”

“You’re ... a girl?”

“I ….”

‘ _ Say something,’ _ she screamed at herself, ‘ _ anything!’ _ But the words wouldn’t come, horror clamping down her throat and scrambling her frenzied thoughts into jumbled words. The lines of shock began to ease from Juleka’s face, her features slipping back into cool indifference. She said nothing.

Rose floundered. “I-I ….”

What should she say? What  _ could  _ she say?

“I … I’m sorry, Juleka,” she choked, the beginnings of a sob scratching at her chest as her hands clenched into fists where they still grasped at the hem of her shirt. “I’m  _ sorry _ , I know I lied to you. I lied to everyone. But let me explain! Please don’t make me go back, I can’t go back. Please don’t send me away. P-please don’t … don’t ….”

_ Please don’t go _ .

Juleka blinked. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, time suspended in that instant which had her heart shocked to stillness in her mouth, her limbs paralysed, and a frigid cold numbing her senses even as her blood pounded in her ears.

Waiting.

With another blink and a swish of raven black hair, Juleka turned away.

Anguish tore through Rose like knives, her heart plummeting to her stomach in pieces. She reflexively reached out a hand, tongue forming the first word to call her back, before recoiling back as if she’d been scalded, screwing her eyes shut. But she suspected that even if someone upended a tub of boiling water on her, she wouldn’t feel a thing. How could she, with this merciless, biting cold left in the absence of the one person left in the world who cared about her as much as she did for them?

The thud of a closing door snapped her eyes back open, landing immediately on Juleka as the other girl bolted the door.

“I checked. No one else is outside, but it’s better to be safe.”

Rose blinked, a new sensation sticking in her throat as Juleka crossed the room in three strides to reach her.

The light touch on her elbow made her jump, the contact like fire to her numb skin, but Juleka either didn’t notice or didn’t acknowledge it.

“May I?”

Swallowing, still fighting to regain the use of words, Rose nodded and forced her stiff fingers to release their death hold on her tunic. 

Stooping a little, Juleka gingerly pulled up the fabric to inspect the damage. Some part of Rose still had the presence of mind to flush at the weight of Juleka’s eyes on her bare skin. As always, Juleka’s face remained unreadable, her neutral expression giving no clue as to her thoughts.

“It doesn’t look too bad, but I still think you should get it treated,” Juleka concluded as she let the tunic fall back into place, straightening again. “Wait here, I’ll get some proper supplies.”

“Wait!”

The word shot past her lips before Rose could stop it, her baby blue eyes growing impossible wider as she resisted the urge to slap her hands across her mouth when Juleka turned to look at her.

“I-I haven’t explained myself yet …,” said Rose, fighting down an embarrassed blush as she focused on maintaining eye contact. Juleka’s wine-red eyes boring into hers made her blood pound in her ears, but Rose refused to look away. “I’ve lied to you about so many things. Fed you so many untruths. I’ve not been a good friend to you at all, but I … I ….”

And of course, like a burning candle running out of wick, Rose found herself out of things to say again. She gasped in a shuddering breath, trying to pin down the turmoil of emotions into words.

Juleka saved her, as always.

“We can talk about that later. We should tend to your cut first, we can’t risk infection.”

“O-oh. All … all right.”

At long last, Juleka smiled, the slight upturn of her lips throwing her features into a radiant light that seemed to shine from beneath her skin. Without another word, she slipped through the door.

It was only seconds later that Rose realised she was smiling too.

* * *

Now with someone to share her secret with, it was as if a weight she hadn’t noticed before had been lifted off her shoulders.

“Your _f_ _ ather _ is an Estates-General?” Juleka repeated, incredulity lacing her tone before her eyes widened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that offensively, but … wow.”

Shaking her head, Rose dismissed the apology with a smile. “It’s all right, I understand the reason for the shock.”

In a rare moment of respite from work, the two girls sat idly weeding in Rose’s vegetable patch. Shoots had begun to sprout from the ground, twining up the sticks embedded in the soil and reaching skywards. Gaps in the clouds allowed the sun an occasional peek at the world below, the breeze a near silent whisper in Rose’s ear. Juleka had let her hair down for the wind to thread its fingers through, and Rose discovered she was more focused on that velvety sheen of indigo than what her hands were doing.

“It’s just—” Juleka gestured vaguely with her hands. “The upper echelons of the Second Estate are such stuck ups, it’s hard to imagine that you came from there. You’re nothing like them.” She huffed. “I can see why you wouldn’t want your parentage to be public knowledge.”

Finding herself unable to disagree, Rose nodded. “I guess you can also see now the reason I left.”

Something in her tone mollified Juleka, because the girl’s next words came subdued. “Not … not really, actually.”

Looking up from uprooting yet another dandelion, Rose settled her gaze on Juleka—secretly glad for the excuse to do so without having to cast furtive glances when she wasn’t looking. The taller girl was staring right at her, and Rose thought her hammering heart might have jumped to find a new residence in her throat.

“You had everything; a big house with servants to tend to you, anything you wanted to eat, a proper bed to sleep in—a life in the lap of luxury that most people can only dream of. But you left it all for … for this.” Sweeping her hand at the weathered church of lichen-covered stone behind them, Juleka turned her eyes back on Rose. “Why?”

As if in reminder, the ends of her fringe tickled at Rose’s cheeks. Her hair had grown slightly—a mere centimeter or two—but Rose was hyper aware of its shortened length like a butterfly was aware of its lost cocoon. Reaching up, she brushed her fingertips over the ends.

“It’s … it’s a long story.”

A hand settled on her shoulder, the ivory skin still bright under the streaks of mud. Rose had never found another pair of garden gloves, but she did not recoil at the dirt under Juleka’s fingernails. The touch burned—not a scorching heat, but a warm glow that seeped through her linen tunic and into her skin, spreading throughout her body.

“We’ve got time,” said Juleka.

* * *

“And what’s your name? Your real one, I mean.”

“Rose. My name is Rose.”

“It’s a pretty name. I think it suits you.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

“So what about you?” Rose asked at length, after relating another of Alix’s misadventures and close misses with her mother. “What about your family, where are they?”

“They’re dead,” Juleka answered promptly enough, though Rose didn’t miss the way the remnants of mirth fled from her eyes or how the taller girl turned ever so slightly away. 

“Oh,” said Rose, her own smile dropping from her face like a sinking stone. “I’m sorry, Juleka. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“No, of course not. It’s not your fault you didn’t know, René, it’s all right.” Sitting up straighter, Juleka tilted her head back to look up at the sky. “I never knew my father, and mother rarely spoke of him. It was her, me, and my sister. But sickness took them a few years back, and I found out that I could be useful here and here I am.”

Swallowing past the rising lump in her throat, Rose reached out with a hand. Not trusting her voice to speak, she rested it over Juleka’s. The maddening tension in her chest receded slightly when Juleka turned their palms over to twine their fingers together. A soft smile tugged at her lips as Rose squeezed gently, offering her silent comfort.

They remained like that for what could be minutes or hours—Rose was finding it increasingly difficult to have a sense of time around Juleka, as if the girl made time itself stop at her whim. When the velvet-haired girl spoke, it was to ask a question.

“Hey, René?”

Smile widening, Rose hummed. “Yes, Juleka?”

“Can I…. Can I call you Rose?”

Hearing her name—her real name!—uttered by that honeyed timbre lifted her on invisible wings and, for a moment, Rose believed she could walk on air.

“Of course, you can. But that name stays between only us, okay?”

Juleka’s answering grin outshone the very sun itself when she turned it on her.

“Only us,” she confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU Created by kasumiafkgod, escurochi, and sixsaltysweets of Tumblr.
> 
> Written by kasumiafkgod
> 
> http://kasumiafkgod.tumblr.com  
> http://escurochi.tumblr.com  
> http://sixsaltysweets.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

Rose wished she could say that she saw it coming, that she anticipated it; but she hadn’t.

“What a strange girl. I asked her who she was and she simply ran off. Is something the matter with her?”

Speeding past the group of concerned, twittering nuns, Rose sprinted through the chapel’s open double doors and out into the night, chasing after pattering footfalls as a familiar, slender figure disappeared into the dark. 

Gritting her teeth, Rose clenched her fists as she pumped her legs faster. She should have known, she berated herself, should have seen it coming. How many times could one person withstand being forgotten, time and time again? How strong can one person pretend to be until they snap under the strain of being their own ghost?

How could she have been so blind?

“Juleka!” she yelled after the girl’s retreating back. “Juleka, wait!”

If Juleka had heard Rose’s calls, she gave no indication, not slowing down.

Away from the church and out on the cobbled streets, Rose was thankful for the moonlight guiding her through the dark, the full, round sphere hanging amidst backdrop of a thousand twinkling stars. It shone off of her indigo velvet hair, billowing in the wind and made bright purple in the highlights, gleaming against the muted colours of nighttime. Her past weeks of hard labour had allowed her to build some semblance of muscles and strength, but she was still no match for Juleka’s longer legs. It was all she could do just keeping up.

Just as Rose was ready to give in to her burning calves and resign herself to being lost on the streets of a Paris in the middle of the night without a guide, the alleyway opened up to reveal a great glimmering ribbon of water, the moon tinting it a burnished silver. The moon saw herself in the river’s mirror-like surface, a warping circle of pearlescent white. Gentle currents lapped at the banks, the ripples lost to the downstream flow. 

La Seine.

And Juleka.

In a heart-stopping moment of suspended time, the beauty of the scene struck Rose at her core and she froze mid-step. She took a breath, drinking it in, wanting to commit the sight to memory.

Out of the darkness and in the light of moon and her stars, Juleka had never appeared more beautiful. Silvery sheen in her hair and lighting up her skin, she could have been a daughter of the moon herself. She stood upon a cobbled stone bridge stretching across the river, almost folding in on herself as she leaned over the balustrade on her elbows and gazed over the waters. The night-chilled breeze whispered through the air, tugging playful fingers through those silvery indigo locks and casting the strands into its winds. Even the patched and worn skirt appeared graceful, rippling in the air currents like the water below.

Stepping from the shadow of the alley, Rose crossed the empty street. The night was quiet, not a single person was outside except for her and Juleka. 

Coming to a stop behind Juleka, Rose could almost believe that they alone owned this night world of Paris.

“Juleka?” Rose called, the tranquil of the night reducing her voice to nothing more than a whisper.

“I’m nothing,” Juleka choked out, shudders running through her frame and breaking her still posture. “ _ Nothing _ . No one notices me, no one even looks at me. I might as well be invisible.” Juleka turned away, whipping around to face the Seine. Words died in Rose’s throat. The sight of Juleka’s back and trembling shoulders crushed the air from her lungs, twisting the blood from her heart and dropping it to her feet. She watched as the other girl seem to collapse in on herself, hugging her pale arms. “It’s like I don’t even  _ exist _ ,” she whispered.

“Don’t you say that!” exclaimed Rose, darting forward to stand on the plinth and facing Juleka. Now eye-level with the other girl, the moonlight glinting damp trails down her cheeks were unmistakable. 

“Don’t say that,” Rose repeated, quieting her voice again. Reaching up a hand, she brushed away a rolling tear from Juleka’s cheek, the teardrop warm against her cooled skin. Another took its place just as quickly. Dripping off her chin and onto the railing, it left a darkened spot on the stone.

“Why? Why shouldn’t I say it?” Juleka demanded, the tears coming faster even as she hiccoughed and turned away from Rose’s hand. Juleka swiped a hand across her eyes, but it did nothing to stem the crumbling dam. “It’s the truth, and you know it.”

“No,” insisted Rose, resting a light hand on Juleka’s shoulder instead. Not grasping, not holding, but a gentle touch. A reminder of her presence. Her unwavering support. The darker haired girl didn’t object.

“No, that’s not true. Juleka, please look at me.”

Another hiccough, and Juleka’s fingers dug into her own skin where they had a death grip on her elbows. She shook her head, waves of indigo flowing in cascades over her shoulders. Spasms rocked Juleka’s body as she paused to take a breath, the tremors reaching Rose’s hand.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with someone like me, Rose,” she said in between gasps for breath, choked sobs staggering her voice. “I’m n-not worth your t-t-time, your k-kindness—” Another rasping breath. “I-It would just be easier for y-you if you-if you le—”

“I’m not leaving you anywhere, Juleka. And that’s final.”

Juleka only shook her head harder, the force of her weeping seeming to silence her voice. But she still didn’t pull away. A gentle touch on her chin from Rose prompted her to turn her head until they were face to face, but Juleka resolutely kept her eyes closed even as they continued leaking tears.

Lifting both hands to caress Juleka’s damp cheeks, Rose smiled. “But you’re here, and you’re real. See? I’m touching you, I’m talking to you. I can see you. You do exist.” Rubbing her thumb over a damp cheekbone, Rose chased another tear away.

“Don’t you believe me?” she added in a whisper, leaning in closer. Close enough that their foreheads touched. 

Juleka finally opened her eyes, and Rose found her vision filled with nothing but the sanguine red of honeyed wine.

Neither of them moved.

The silence stretched on, palpable, as heavy as the full moon hanging in the sky. Silky strands darker than the midnight waters of the Seine flowed in the starlit breeze, brushing against Rose’s fingers. She breathed deep, past the knot in her chest. The night was quiet, belying the chaos reigning over the city. 

Juleka drew in another rattling breath, and the spell was broken.

“I believe you.”

* * *

How was she to know it was the beginning of the end?

* * *

“Bring him in here!”

“Lay him down on the floor, mind his legs!”

“The doctor! Where’s the doctor? He needs stitches!”

“Hot water, someone bring hot water!”

Rushing forward while struggling not to upset the steaming tin tub in her hands, Rose set it down next to Mother Giselle. “The doctor is on his way, we’ll just have to make do with what we have in the meantime.”

“Thank you, René. Fetch me some clean rags, and we’ll see what we can do for him.”

Nodding, Rose got to her feet, leaving Mother Giselle to calm the sisters as she hurried to the storage room.

Juleka appeared in the doorway in a flash of indigo and her fraying lavender nightgown, a candleholder in hand. Rose had to slap a hand to the doorframe to keep from running into her.

“What’s going on?” 

“A riot broke out near the Notre Dame, a man got injured. There’s some cuts, and what Mother Giselle says are some broken ribs,” Rose summarised, darting under Juleka’s arm and sweeping down the next wing of the chapel, making a beeline for the makeshift storeroom. “We need clean rags for bandages to stem the bloodflow until the doctor gets here. Do you remember where we put aside those torn old tunics yesterday?”

“Vaguely. I’ll come help you look.” 

She nodded, pulling open the door to the storeroom and hearing the taller girl follow behind her. Thankful for the light from Juleka’s flickering candle, however small it was, Rose began ransacking the shelves.

“How did it happen?” Juleka asked over the muffled sound of tumbling books.

“We aren’t sure, and he’s not really coherent, so anyone’s guess is just as good,” said Rose, wincing as she dropped a candelabra over her foot. “That poor man, he wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it wasn’t for that riot.”

“Accidents happen,” said Juleka, peering at a shelf too high for Rose to look through before stepping deeper into the room and scrutinising the next. “If he hadn’t gotten hurt then, he probably would have in another one later.”

“The rioting should stop, then,” said Rose, rummaging through cartons of sewing supplies—but no torn tunics. “This needless violence needs to end.”

“What?”

The sheer incredulity in Juleka’s voice gave her pause, and she stopped her search long enough to stop and turn eyes to Juleka instead. The girl was staring at her as if she had a pumpkin for a head.

“What?” she reflected the question back at Juleka.

“How could you … how could you say that?” Juleka frowned, clear disapproval in the set of her jaw. “Without the riots, how else will the people tell the First and Second Estates that what they’re doing is wrong? They need an outlet, a voice, something that sends the message loud and clear.”

“But rioting accomplishes nothing,” said Rose, exasperated to be having this conversation now of all times. Why was Juleka reacting so aversely?

“It lets us make a stand,” said Juleka, scowl deepening. “It gives a voice when we have none. They weren’t listening to us before, so it’s time we make our intent more clear.”

“But is hurting others and each other really worth that?”

“And what if I think it is, Rose?”

Opening her mouth to reply, Rose snapped it shut, allowing one last look at Juleka—bedhead, scowl and all—before turning back to the task at hand. Finally ripping out the old tunics from between two boxes of spare bibles some minutes later, Rose hurried back outside.

Juleka’s silence as they traversed back to the main hall of the chapel left a lingering sense of apprehension settled in Rose’s chest.

* * *

“A  _ demonstration _ ?”

“It’s the only way they’ll take us seriously,” said Juleka, peeling the onions for the soup. Alone in the kitchen with her, Rose was more at ease with kneading the dough for bread, rolling up her too-large sleeves to expose slender arms. 

She sprinkled another dusting of flour over the dough as Juleka added, “This oppression, this tyranny, it has to stop!”

“I know, and I agree,” said Rose, pausing to sink her teeth into her lower lip. Her hands slowed their kneading, fingers pressing indents into the malleable surface. “But ….”

“It won’t be anything serious, they’re probably just going to make a show of force. Maybe negotiate for a surrender. Not like they’ll actually do anything bad.”

“That may be their intention in the beginning,” said Rose, turning her attention away from the dough to cast a look over her shoulder. Dicing the onions, Juleka avoided her gaze. Breathing in, Rose turned back to the dough, soldiered on.

“But riots have been happening, Juleka. People have been getting hurt; unnecessarily and for the wrong reasons.”

“So you’re saying that it’s wrong for us to fight for the right to live?”

Eyes snapping open wide, Rose barely suppressed a flinch at the venom lacing Juleka’s tone. Her hands stilled on the dough, but she didn’t turn around again. The frigid cold contempt sounded alien in the normally pleasant, gravelly tenor of Juleka’s voice, like a child donning a cloak far too big. She shivered.

“I didn’t say that,” Rose denied in a quiet, even tone. “I just meant that—”

“This could be our chance for change, our chance to make a difference,” Juleka continued, taking on a more incensed pitch with every word. Their eyes met, flashing red clashing with blue. Juleka’s shoulders hitched as she drew in a sharp intake of breath. “I thought you understood that, I thought you’d want for the people of France to lead lives that are actually _ human _ . But in the end, I guess you’re just like one of tho—”

“Don’t,” whispered Rose. The lone word was barely audible over the sounds of the bubbling pot on the stove and the idle chatter of crowds and nuns in the chapel above, but it cut off Juleka’s tirade with all the subtlety of a warhorn. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

All was quiet in the kitchen, the mounting tension in the air thick enough to choke on. Somewhere outside, a baby began to cry.

Refusing to back down or look away, a stab of despair found its home in Rose’s gut when she didn’t recognise the look in Juleka’s eyes. What had once been warm, mulled wine now resembled a red decisively more sinister. Something not Juleka.

“I hope there  _ is _ a mob,” said Juleka, her quiet voice like frozen daggers to Rose’s ears. “I hope there  _ will _ be a riot. A big one, something they can’t just ignore and sweep under the carpet. Maybe that will be what it takes to overthrow the King. A revolution.”

“But surely there are more peaceful ways—”

“There  _ isn’t  _ any, Ro—” Juleka stopped mid-sentence at Rose’s horrified glance and quick dart of eyes to check for eavesdroppers, having the grace to look chastened. It was gone as quick as it had come, a frown overcoming her features before she turned back to the onions, chopping them up with a fervor as if they had done her some personal wrong.

“I’m going,” declared Juleka, “with or without you.”

“No!” Rose spun, throwing her inhibitions to the winds as she grasped hold of Juleka’s elbows. “Juleka, listen to me—”

“My voice will be heard, I will  _ not  _ let myself be ignored. I can make a difference, I  _ will _ make a difference. I  _ will _ see change brought for the betterment of the people and I refuse to simply stand by the sidelines like the silent, faceless spectre I’ve been all my life!”

“Juleka, you must not—”

Twisting away from her grip, Juleka whirled around and Rose found herself inches away from wild fiery eyes.

“I must not? I must not  _ what _ , René? Are you going to boss me around and tell me what to do, too?”

“No, of course not!”

Only when the words left her lips did Rose realise their voices had risen to almost shouts, the two of them standing a mere three inches apart and fists clenched at their sides. Not taking her eyes off of Juleka’s, Rose lowered herself back onto her feet from the tiptoe position she had unconsciously adopted to be level with the taller girl. A deep breath, a deliberate lowering of her voice, and Rose continued.

“Juleka, I’d never, ever  _ tell _ you to do anything. Especially anything you won’t want to do. All I can do is ask you, and I’m asking—begging you now. Bad things might happen, and I—” Rose choked, pausing to find her voice again before finishing in a whisper, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.“

_ I just can’t. _

Silence followed her words, pregnant and heavy as Juleka digested her words. Seconds passed with no reaction, but Rose took heart in that there was no outright rejection either. She gave Juleka few more moments before reaching out to brush their fingertips together.

“Please, Juleka.”

Another heart-skipping beat of silence, downcast eyes, and a bitten lower lip. Then Rose heard that honeyed timbre in her ears and knew that  _ her  _ Juleka was back.

“All right.” Warm fingers wrapped over her own, an apology that needed no words. “I’m staying here.”

* * *

It was a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but one that meant the whole world to her.

* * *

Dead.

So many dead.

Crushed by the drawbridge, stampeded by their own peers, shot, beheaded.

Where would it end?

How many more will die?

Arms reached around from behind her, wrapping around her shoulders as a familiar weight settled atop her head. The embrace was warm, gentle, it was  _ real _ .

“Thank you,” honeyed timbre whispered, fingers dragging themselves through the cropped mop of her hair. “For convincing me not to go.”

Reaching up to wrap her own fingers around pale arms, Rose pressed her eyes to them, relishing in their heat and the steady beat of a pulse beneath the skin.

_ ‘Thank you,’ _ she thought, tightening her hold.  _ ‘For being alive and here with me.’ _

* * *

The peals of the ship’s bell rolled across the harbour like death knells, too much like a funeral procession to Rose’s ears.

Shining in the cloudless sky, the mid-morning sun beat down on the crowd, its light permeating the air and brightening every surface it touched. Seagulls cawed from where they soared high above, their cacophony drowning out the static chatter from the crowd as Rose breathed in deep, tasting salt on her tongue borne by the sea breeze that filled her lungs. Its tranquility seeped into her being, almost entirely relieving her of the stress and anxiety the past weeks had crushed her with.

Almost.

Opening her eyes, Rose took in the sight of the chipped and discoloured stormy black hull; the ship was not pretty, but it was huge. A wooden ramp led from the pier onto the ship, the crew keeping a handle on the steady stream of people boarding the ocean liner. The passengers were plainly dressed and didn’t look out of the ordinary, but it was no secret to the people of France that most of its noble families were leaving the country following the Bastille getting overrun and sparking the beginning of the revolution proper.

Fleeing from a place they once considered safe, their home, and likely never to return.

Rose’s attention was focused on two people in particular; a man and a woman, both of tall stature. Cloaks wrapped their frames and hats pulled down low to obscure their faces, but Rose could recognise them anywhere.

She clenched Juleka’s fingers tighter between her own, drawing comfort from the other girl’s answering squeeze.

Wordlessly, she watched as the couple stepped up the ramp as if lost, trailing their luggage behind them. They stopped on the deck, the man speaking to one of the crew and brandishing something in his hand as the woman stood back and looked on. Moments later the crewman nodded, stepping aside and allowing the man and woman to board the ship, the man disappearing below deck.

The woman paused, casting a glance over her shoulder as if sensing eyes on her. Rose shivered as the woman’s searching gaze passed over her, even though she knew there was no way she could be discerned from the crowd.

Seeming not to find what she was looking for, the woman deflated, shoulders slumping as if in defeat as she followed after her partner.

It was the last time Rose would ever see her parents.

Another light squeeze on her fingers prompted Rose to turn her head, looking straight into Juleka’s eyes that seemed to shine like crystalised wine.

“Are you all right?”

Blinking away the sudden wetness in her eyes, Rose smiled. Things may change in the future. The revolution might improve things or make them worse, and that uncertainty had the people of France at the edge of their seats and biting their nails from worry. But Rose had one certainty to anchor herself to reality with and she knew she was never going to let go.

“With you here, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU Created by kasumiafkgod, escurochi, and sixsaltysweets of Tumblr.
> 
> Written by kasumiafkgod
> 
> http://kasumiafkgod.tumblr.com  
> http://escurochi.tumblr.com  
> http://sixsaltysweets.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> AU Created by kasumiafkgod, escurochi, and sixsaltysweets of Tumblr.
> 
> Written by kasumiafkgod
> 
> http://kasumiafkgod.tumblr.com  
> http://escurochi.tumblr.com  
> http://sixsaltysweets.tumblr.com


End file.
